


you can hear it in the silence (you are in love)

by Mariss95



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Cuddling, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-09 04:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11661219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mariss95/pseuds/Mariss95
Summary: It occurs to Felicity, as she stirs awake this Saturday morning, that this should feel strange.Because the comfortable warmth enveloping her is not just from a throw or the fading sunlight shining through her bedroom’s window. And the puff of air hitting the back of her neck, pickling her skin in its way, isn’t a wayward wind in this fine summer day.But Oliver.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Set post season 2, during the summer we were owed]  
> all this came about from a simple prompt of olicity + cuddling

It occurs to Felicity, as she stirs awake this Saturday morning, that this should feel strange.

Because the comfortable warmth enveloping her is not just from a throw or the fading sunlight shining through her bedroom’s window. And the puff of air hitting the back of her neck, pickling her skin in its way, isn’t a wayward wind in this fine summer day.

But Oliver.

Oliver Queen. Laying beside her, around her, practically on her. His hand that once gently laid against her palm over her stomach has migrated somehow, between sleep and wishful thinking, towards her lower chest; a thumb finding a home in the small space between her breasts. And his impressive body, wide and long, is pressed completely against every inch of hers, cocooning her now terribly awake being into his blissfully unaware one.

And yet the thought of him waking up and finding them in this predicament, if such a word is actually fitting, wouldn’t make this weirder.

For he’d actually find this nice, normal, as she does in a way. Which is the part that is strange and a bit unsettling.

Because how did they went from ‘unthinkable’ to cuddling on her bed on a lazy weekend, while still remaining completely platonic?

…okay, maybe not _completely_. But still, spooning, pliant Oliver and all, she still feels an actual _them_  is not reachable yet; a distant notion that sounds so nice and inviting, yet can’t possibly be a reality.

Or can it? 

It’s a bit useless, that train of thought; for it takes two to make that call, and a one of this pair has shut that door metaphorically so many times it’s a wonder it doesn’t feel locked.

But now, as she absentmindedly drifts her fingers over the welcomed weight of his arm, she ponders the way that door has maybe etched opened these past few months, inch by inch, until this feels like a _something_ , instead of a buried notion.

Looking back it probably started with his hand on hers, pressing it strongly during the flight back from Lian-Yu. She still felt uneasy on the air in such a way, and the way his grip fell on hers, and he kept furrowing his brows, clearly displayed his unease at being so close to purgatory once again. They’d kept each other together, in a silent support that lead them back home.

Then back in said home she’d taken another tiny step forward, in the form of a reformed foundry for Oliver’s birthday, together with a new workout set-up that Dig had helped her design –between knowing smiles and shaking his head at the unspeakable.

And Oliver had responded in kind, with the biggest widening of his heavenly lips as she opened her apartment door one night and found him holding a promised bottle of wine and whispering her name and a weighty ‘thank you’ she’d shrug off with a blush and smile of her own.

Even today, drifting her touch back and forth over his warmed skin, she smiles at the notion of a meek Oliver reaching out, awkwardly standing in her tiny living room, looking around into her world. Her wandering thoughts took no time to fill the air, lifting the tense veil that’d come from their first moment truly alone since the fake-out confession she’d replayed in her head more times that she’d be willing to share.

Two glasses of wine led them onto her couch for the first time, easy going words passing through, as they somehow found a safe ground and comfortable friendship in sharing and knowing each other better than they already did. He’d sipped at his wine slowly, enjoying the taste but not craving the buzz, and she remembers purposely pacing herself at first too, lest she started blurting out one sexual innuendo after another. Even then she wagered those would’ve read more weighty and tensioned than a simple joke, as they once were.

By the end of the night she’d seen that lovely dimple to the side of his face more times than ever before, and the blush tainting her cheeks had come surprisingly from laughter and shared joy instead of the heat such intimacy should’ve brought her.

 _Yes_. From that point forward she pinpoints this really starting to develop.

Oliver showing up at her place, with a bag of take-out and wine, flowing conversation and understanding pauses, became somewhat of a habit. Her surprise swiftly grew into teasing comments on his choices, or even beating him to the punch and texting pictures of the Big Belly she’d already set up on her coffee table.

Once he’d actually brought a paper bag full of groceries, a light-hearted joke about her deserted cupboards being said as he breezed through the door to the kitchen, where he cooked the best home-made meal she’d had in ages. His smile at the sound leaving her mouth upon tasting it had been heavenly, even lightening the darkness of his eyes that sometimes lingered at the thought of everything lived.

Soon their banter on the lair turned to how oblivious Oliver was to her cultural references, driving her so wild movie nights were established and marked on their calendars; neither noticing how Roy and Dig rolled their eyes and found their way out of it every time.

Her couch became their spot on free nights, the biggest bag of popcorn almost blocking Oliver from view when she opened the door the very first time. Laughter became the predominant sound echoing off her walls, happiness a welcomed feeling for them both.

And so they’d grown close, closer, a comfortableness that would’ve seemed off to the passing eye settling them in a new _them_. 

Almost without knowing, hugging Oliver became as normal as breathing, his palm a reassuring weight against her back, gently pressing her to him before drawing away; each time lingering longer, especially on heavier days.

The pictures on their phones turned into a snapshot of a truly concentrated Oliver working on a puzzle they’d laid out hours before, and Felicity’s of her head thrown back with laughter one rainy morning he’d brought her coffee to brainstorm the comeback to their company.

 _Their_.

That word also grew familiar. Their corner booth at Big Belly. Their coffee order before wandering around the city bouncing thoughts back and forth. Their specific looks and touches before Oliver left for a mission: her palm sliding down his chest, unnecessarily adjusting his quiver; his eyes caressing her face, a smile talking about its twin he’d shine her way when he’d come back.

‘When’ had also become a certainty.

Not ‘if’, but a steady reality that was her friendship and companionship as they fought for his company back, and looked for an apartment for him (as the cot she’d bought for the foundry was _definitely_ temporary). _When_ he’d show up at her place; _when_ he would call, _when_ she’d barrel into the lair and easily engage in a delightful banter with him that would stir them both alive.

As he stirs ever so slightly against her, freezing her momentarily before he sighs in content and stills in deep slumber, Felicity recalls the first night he slept over.

An unfinished mission, of the kind that troubled her long after leaving the lair, drew bags under her eyes that caught his attention. And, despite her assurances and brave faces, he’d seen the trepidation vibrating beneath, how very tired she was and yet perpetually alert.

So he’d made the offer, a question and plea mixed in one –as he’s grown to be instead of demanding– and she’d eventually agreed, trying her hardest to make her couch as cozy as possible.

By morning she was the calmest and best rested she’d been in weeks, just slightly unsettled by not knowing whether Oliver had gotten any sleep at all; for he was up and making breakfast. All domestic, completely comfortable in her space, the notion making much more sense than maybe it should’ve.

She would have been okay with Dig doing that, right? 

Totally. Just maybe without the butterflies in her stomach, admiring his bed hair that only made him, if possible, ridiculously more attractive.

But as soon as he’d shined that kind smile her way, warming her insides, and offered her freshly brewed coffee, she’d realised over-thinking was unneeded, because that just simply _felt_  right.

And so gut-feeling and every good emotion having each other in their lives like this brought became the reason for not using cold-hard logic.

So her couch became his second bed, or third when he eventually signed a lease on a place, and her kitchen his favorite playing ground, until his could be fully equipped and worthy. Somehow he fit perfectly in her small little world, as she did in his even outside those four walls.

The physicality of it all was simply natural.

They were close, closer than anyone else. He was her best friend and didn’t flinch or even momentarily paused anymore whenever she initiated contact. A hand on his shoulder, affirming pats after patching him up, a bop to his chest when he was being unnecessarily stubborn or childish.

And so did he. A shoulder rub after she’d typed restlessly on her workstation for five hours straight; fixing the fallen strap of her top when her nails weren’t fully dry yet; that soft yet purposeful touch to the small of her back that anchored them both.

And finally, his shoulder, firm and surprisingly comfy under her cheek once she’d dozed off midway through The Prestige. She’d apologised out of habit, him shrugging it off and assuring it was okay, somehow prompting them to do that again when awake.

She doesn’t even remember when his arm had started drifting from the back of the couch to her shoulders, his fingers softly running through her tingling skin becoming normal, treasured.

The first time he had held her on her bed is clear in mind, though.

It’d been one of those days, when he secluded himself more than usual, especially noted nowadays, and generally meant he was heavily battling guilt and the ones lost. Anniversaries were the worst, birthdays not as happy either.

The team would take those days off sometimes, or worked extra hard, depending on his mood and need to work himself to the ground. And she’d be there, silently supportive when words weren’t needed.

But that day, long after everyone had left Oliver to his anger with the training dummies, she felt a soft knock against her bedroom window. And there he was.

Deflated and finally spent, the blue in his eyes betraying more than his actions and words ever could. She’d opened up, willingly and without doubt, immediately embracing his shaking form into her arms. She also remembers his breath, stuttered and shaky, his muscles contracting and relaxing sporadically, as if his whole being was fighting itself, thoughts shocking him into motion.

She doesn’t know how long it took, or how they drifted there, but when the rain started they were laying over her covers. His head laid cradled against her neck, between her jaw and the soft caress of her palm. Her heart beat steadily against his cheek, hopefully echoing within him. And before long his whole body had relaxed, splaying softly on her, his chest brushing over hers.

His arm had made it to the other side of her where she laid on her back, eventually holding onto her hip, soothing her over her clothes with his roughened thumb; this time reaching out for her instead of his bow.

They’d drifted asleep, just to that point where consciousness is a mirage that comes only if you focus hard enough. He almost let go once, breathing an ‘I’m sorry’ that she promptly shushed as she kept carding her fingers thought his hair.

‘Stay,’ she’d offered as he had said to her so many times, in varied ways, through their now almost two years of partnership. 

And so he’d settled further into her hold, whatever unease this could bring being brushed off one tender caress at the time.

They never talked about that night, Oliver’s impressive breakfast upon dawn, coupled with a heartfelt ‘thank you’ were more than enough. And her answering smile, that he promptly mirrored with a warm uptick of his lips, seemed fitting for them too.

Maybe that was another stepping stone into _this_ reality, the one that made his touch feel this inviting, assuring, comforting like no other. 

All that she knows, as he begins stretching and humming, finally embracing the morning, is that this still feels right. Still wanted. Still cherished and loved.

And nope, that word and everything it can entail still chills her to the bone, a shiver Oliver behind her feels, clutching her closer still to his furnace of a body. But maybe that strange notion, that she’d buried as she thought they’d both done with their feelings, has been explored and opened one stitch at a time.

And the warmth, comfort, and rightness of this thing with Oliver is a full blown affection that shines through their every look, every action, every thought that goes out for them both.

So turning around in his hold, she lifts her hand and ever so slowly brushes her fingertips against his lips.

His deeply blue eyes open at the touch. They are alight with happiness, and care, and love? A glint of surprise too, for all the touches, actions and words that have grown normal between them, this is yet one to explore.

But then he smiles, those lips stretching beneath her touch, finally parting to breathe what seems to be his favorite word:

“ _Felicity_.”

A sigh, so lovely and delicious, especially when paired with his husky morning voice and that look in his eyes.

 _I love you_ , the thought comes forth unbridled. And she does, so very much, despite reason, high IQ or else.

But she doesn’t voice it, the tender quiet between them settling further until her touch grows normal at once, tracing a path around his face. And when it halts, cupping his cheek and tilting his head slightly to the side, his breath becomes felt against her own; for she leans the last stretch forward to burst the door of denial fully open, finally touching her lips to his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> I'm still not over 2.5 and everything it could've been to have made olicity be how they were at the beginning of s03. I hope you enjoyed my play of it!  
> If so pretty please let me know in as many of few words as you can. It'd really make my day, no matter when you find this fic :)
> 
> Lucy  
> [[tumblr post](http://releaseurinhibitions.tumblr.com/post/163621738502/11)]


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I may have gotten inspired by your comments and the remaining two prompts I had for the olicity + specific touches meme to continue this fic. Also [this quote](http://releaseurinhibitions.tumblr.com/post/163854789922/laarne-no-offense-but-the-soft-uncertain-kiss) helped :)  
> So here goes chapter two from oliver's pov, straight from where we left off in chapter one, and responding to the prompt olicity + kisses. And expect a final chapter soon :)  
> Enjoy!

He’s barely had his eyes opened for a full minute and he’s willingly closing them again. Not with slumber, as the light shining brightly over them indicates has been the case for many more hours that he normally gets; but with pleasure, a sigh escaping his lips, being caught between hers.

 _Felicity’s_.

It’s her lips that are brushing over his; gentle, almost hesitant but purposeful. Her breath that fanned against his skin as her fingers danced over his mouth, then traced the lines and ridges that painted his features now.

His lips stretch under the soft caress of her own, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth at the memory of the look in her face. So open, inviting, her eyes clear in this sunny morning, barely betraying the flurry of thoughts crowding her beautiful brain.

Beautiful doesn’t even come close to describe the sight of her before him, around him. Unruly hair fanning over their shared pillow, teeth pensively biting down on her lower lip.

His attention shifts to the present once said lower lip lands on his upper one, a caress, rub, that turns into a nipping motion, boldly tugging his wonderfully kissed upper lip between hers.

Because she’s kissing him. Actually, really kissing him. _Him_.

_Why exactly is he thinking right now?_

Maybe it’s the sheer novelty of her touch in such a way, or the surprise of the unexpected, what he’d stubbornly labeled as unthinkable for far too long. A perpetually pessimistic part of his brain is stuck on the notion of this being a mirage, a dream like many before it he’ll wake up from, disappointed at having played himself. 

So the palm that had found a home over Felicity’s lower back once she’d turned around tentatively holds her closer, trying to anchor himself in this reality, or assure him this is just in his head, fading away as he makes an effort to reach out.

But she’s there, skin warm and soft against his calloused touch, her shirt having ridden up at some point. And she hums, if possible leaning closer still, the hand cradling his face drifting down, for her fingertips to deliciously rasp against his stubble.

 _Damn_ , that feels so real, even better than any other touch she’s ever shared with him. And there have been many, increased and noted during this summer.

Her hand in his, drawing strength when needed, as she’s with him in the best of ways. Her smiles, of encouragement, comfort, shared sorrow at times, understanding always. Her words, measured or free, poignant or unintended, casual or straight to the heart. But treasured and welcomed, every time.

And then there was the relaxed intimacy they’ve drawn between each other. In her space that’s grown to be so familiar and personal for him too in two months, in a way the manor hasn’t succeeded since his return. Between surprising laughter from his own chest, and wandering thoughts and memories from what seems like a lifetime ago, he’s felt at home by her side, allowing himself to relax, sink in the warmth and companionship of her presence.

It’s selfish, and one of the many self-conscious and treacherous parts of himself has fought the notion, the simplicity and pleasure taken in this life he shouldn’t be able to partake in; that he simply doesn’t deserve.

But one smile on her lips upon opening her door for him, eyes alight at the snack or drink he’d brought in offering each time, and he was a goner. Every time. Silencing the guilt and apprehension clawing at him from within.

It got easier with time, how great it felt weakening the once strong hold on his emotions, keeping him stoic, effective, detached, machine-like.

Somehow she brought what little humanity he thought he had left to the surface, willingly and fearlessly tearing his carefully-built walls apart. He lies; he _is_ afraid, afraid of the more. What else can be if they were to tear whatever lines were left to shreds. How it could be were he to finally own up to his words of love, ones that were as truthful as the glint of emotion in his eyes whenever she laughs.

That pesky ‘ _what if?_ ’ that’s fluttered inside of him more violently lately, bursting through every excuse he put up to shield them both from a possible fall-out. The same ‘what if?’ he’s thought to have seen in her wandering looks, soft touches to his skin, and loaded hugs.

But every time he came close to an answer, turning those memories around in his head, he’d find himself shutting it down, leaving them be and taking them as they came. Reading her signs, acting as close to uninhibited as he’s been in ages, mirroring the newly drawn lines they’d pushed back, widening the comfort zone of this new them they’ve been somewhat deliberately crafting since they left the damned beaches of Lian-Yu behind.

And somehow he’d found himself able and willing to reach out to her in the most casual of ways, and her doing the same. And somehow he’d found Felicity enveloped in his arms, hugging him back with abandon. And somehow he’d found a place in her bed.

Not as such, but still the motion of her lips against his nudges that door open in a terrifyingly exhilarating way.

And before he can keep battling with himself over this, what it means, what he’ll do, how he’s grown so lucky to be experiencing it, Felicity gives one more purposely nip to his lower lip, barely tugging on it as she finally, sadly, leans back, detaching herself completely from their kiss.

 _Their_ kiss; its imprint fresh on his surely swollen lips. The weight of it heavy in the air, vibrating between them even before he’s opened his eyes.

And when he finally does at hearing the deep intake of breath Felicity takes before him, against him, all air leaves his lungs.

She’s truly breathtaking. Flushed cheeks and equally reddened lips, the tender skin surrounding it visibly tingling too from his stubble. And her eyes, deep as they were before sealing their fate with that kiss, are wide, asking and giving so much.

“ _Felicity_ ,” he breathes out, his voice tainted with emotion. Not a question, but a statement. In awe, surprise and delight, all in one.

His hand is still mindlessly drawing senseless shapes onto her upper back, a trail that makes her shiver; or is it the way he’s looking at her? For he’s taking her in, memorizing the stunning beauty of her in the morning mixed with the wonder of this very moment. He licks his lips at the mere thought of her kiss.

He doesn’t miss the way her sight flicks downwards to track that movement, or how she barely inches forward before holding herself in place. And how those cherished fingertips that were running through his jaw have lowered to his shoulder and are anxiously toying with the fabric of his shirt there, her thumb absentmindedly tracing his collarbone.    

He takes it all in, drinking in the look in her eyes as he finally makes up his mind. 

No more running, no more pretending this is anything but everything. No more shying away from what he wants, what she wants, what she just teased to them both, clearly leaving them wanting more. No more push and pull shrouded in uncertainty, feigning ignorance to keep feelings at bay.

He’s finally making a choice, prompted by her making hers and letting him know about it, in the most enjoyable way possible.

“ _Fe-li-ci-ty,_ ” he says again, tasting every letter as if it were the very first time.

And with the latest smile that she’s put in his face, he gently nudges her closer with his hand between her shoulder blades while leaning slightly forward indicating his intent.

She smiles, an almost surprised puff of air leaving her captivating lips, before taking his cue and once again closing the space between them.

Her mouth lands on his, twin smiles swiftly giving place to wanton sounds as they take little to no time for gentle gliding motions to give place to lustful nibble and swipes. He tilts his head to the side, further leaning into her touch, melting under the indescribable feeling of her mouth working over his. And then her tongue, in a wonderful, bold motion he takes note to thank her for later on, licks a trail between his lips, effectively shattering any idea of going slow.

A spark of arousal overtakes him as he gets lost in her touch, devouring her, drowning in her taste, relishing in her sounds.

She nestles in his hold, that twitching hand onto his chest now clawing at the cloth, only releasing it to explore the exposed skin of his neck, raking a path upwards to further madden him tugging at his hair. And his own palm, once tentative and reassuring against her back, busies itself massaging her shoulder, only to feel her melt under his touch once it drifts south to land over her waist.

And so, echoing the pleased noises lost between their still etched mouths, he gives more; curving against her, drawing her that much closer, completely losing track of the world, willingly and blissfully saying _yes_ to them and all that can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Pretty please leave me your thoughts, and what you envision for part 3. I truly can't stress enough how meaningful and important comments are.
> 
> Lucy  
> [[tumblr post](http://releaseurinhibitions.tumblr.com/post/163854857422/210-for-the-touch-prompt)]


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the third and final part of this journey.  
> This time it's replying to olicity + hugs

Felicity’s fingers run over the rim of her favorite mug. The heavenly scent of freshly brewed coffee and its warmth against her skin remind her this is real; that the rumpled and soft Oliver working wonders on her barely used stove is not a figment of her imagination.

Granted, it’s not the first or tenth time he’s done so, but never with that blissful look upon his face, a flirty wink being sent her way when he finds her staring. And definitely never before wearing sweatpants that hang that low on his hips, basically directing her view towards his crotch.

Her hold tightens over the porcelain, and she takes a sip to center herself.

_Focus, Felicity... just not on that._

But the stray thought that _she_ _could_ enters her mind; treacherous, distracting thought that makes a foolish blush take over her cheeks.

But really, she could, she thinks; possibly, surely. Because not even ten minutes have passed since he’s gently held her in his arms, a thumb reverently soothing a path along the very same cheeks the mere thought of him reddens now. And she can almost taste on her tongue, beneath the warmth of the coffee, that last kiss he’d planted on her _—_ deep, inviting, and so very addictive _—_ before he’d finally torn himself from her to make them some breakfast.

And yes, she may not have actually had the pleasure of sliding those sweatpants further down and out of the way _—_ _yet _—__  but the idea of it is not nearly as ludicrous and frustrating as it was only twenty four hours ago. Or twelve. Or even one, just before Oliver started responding to her kiss.

She’ll confess that, for a flickering moment as he laid petrified against her lips, she thought he’d reject it, this, _them_. That he’d found another convoluted and unnecessarily valiant reason to talk them out of it. But even if he did, she wouldn’t have regretted it.

(She may have fought him on it, though. A little bit, at least, especially after feeling his touch over her bare skin, and the softness of his lips against hers, his breath warm and delicious, even before he’d opened his mouth for her.)

But to the point: _he hadn’t_. He’d taken his sweet time about it, but she wouldn’t change the way he looked at her when he finally opened his eyes for nothing. Or how he said her name, embracing every sound, making it echo deep within her, as he hugged her closer and closer still until she gladly sank into his embrace, embracing everything they could be.

They _can_ be; present tense, his kind smile thrown over his shoulder at her says. She mirrors it, still a bit stiff at the suddenness of this. But really, as she’s pondered this very morning while nestling in bed in his arms, there’s nothing sudden about this them, but the mere reflection she’s doing about it. It’s like they’ve been sleepwalking towards each other, blissfully settling into a new stage of their partnership until every wall guarding her heart has crumbled to pieces and been brushed away. And this suddenness that’s felt so daunting and strange has been just the question of whether to put up new walls or surrender herself completely to the new common ground.

She wants to. She has already, as the most cherished first kiss she’s probably ever had echoes in the halls of her mind. And he does too, apparently, for the hottest second kiss to date replays on a loop too, sending her mind to the gutter once again.

But it’s still all so... unspoken.

Yes, for as word-prone as she is, Oliver and her have always been more about gestures; actions, looks and touches speaking louder than any word ever could. But yet there’s a tiny, simmering doubt in her chest about what tomorrow will entail, and the day after that and so on; for Oliver has been as wavering in his dealings of the future as she’s been with her decision to firmly move on from her feelings for him.

Then again, he’s still here. And that first and second kiss were followed by countless more she’ll take pleasure in recounting for a very long time.

So maybe over-thinking is not the way to go, and letting herself and them get carried away by whatever happens should be it. Yet the notion doesn’t even have time to sink in before her lips part and let it all out.

“What is this?”

She’s spat the words like they were burning her tongue. She’ll give him credit though: Oliver doesn’t even flinch at the sound, instead taking the time to lower the flame and stir the thing before turning her way, an expressive eyebrow being lifted her way.

“Scrambled eggs,” he says, casually. Very much like any other time she’s asked what was on the menu when he made them dinner, or lunch, or yes, even breakfast. But there’s the slight uptick of his mouth, cheeky and teasing to someone that knows how to read him as well as she does.

He knows what she meant. 

And he’s seemingly taking this huge step forward for them as any other smaller one they’ve somewhat unknowingly made these past couple of months. A part of her is thankful, relieved... another wants to rationalize and clarify the heck out of this.

“What are _we_?” she says at last, letting just a hint of vulnerability creep into her voice.

Calmly and without rush, he turns the stove off, gently scraping the eggs to the two plates he’d prepared and heated off beforehand  _—_ like a damn professional chef or something _—_ even garnishing them with some herbs she’d definitely not picked up herself, before finally turning to face her.

“You kissed me,” he states patiently, focused yet still soft and lovely.

“I know.”

“And I kissed you back.”

“I _know_ ,” she states, still needing more somehow.

His smile widens, that mole above the side of his mouth distracting her enough that she almost misses his next words.

“I want you, Felicity. All of you. All with you.”

“ _Oh._ ”

She stands there, gaping at him, her sluggish brain not quite comprehending  _—_ despite the very enthusiastic way he’d shown his want during the last forty five minutes. That man can kiss and then some.

Again, _off track, Felicity!_

“So this morning, right now, _this_ ,” she says, gesturing widely to them with her free hand, “is not an exemption, but a _—_ ”

“ _—_ first, in a way,” he finishes, laughter leaving his lips once she remains a bit shell-shocked. “ _Felicity_ ,” he says in that delicious way of his, the one that conveys so much and focuses her whole attention on his words. And what fantastic and life changing words they are: “I’m all in. _Us_ , this,” he gestures back, taking a deciding step forward _—_ figuratively and literally. “I want to, if you...”

“If I...” and why is her brain filtering every single word right now when it rarely blocks any at all?

But Oliver, sweet, less-emotionally-stunted-than-usual Oliver, must sense her lingering hesitation of his choice, for he edges closer still, that kind smile only widening with affection. And, when he’s finally within reach, his palm finds its way back over her cheek, cupping her jaw and holding her gaze entrapped in his; as if she wasn’t lost in those shades of blue already.

“Felicity.”

“Yes?”

“Would you go on a date with me?”

_What?_

“What?”

“On a date,” he says, mirth tainting his voice, still keeping it low, intimate, like the loving way he’s caressing her cheek and looking at her. “And another, and another. Will you have me, everyday, any day, with you?”

“You want to,” she repeats, still trying to land on this being real, normal, now.

“Very much so. Is that okay?”

She stands there, frozen as he once was against her first open step towards this them, her mind processing everything that’s been said, shown, felt. And he waits there, a hint of fear being drowned in all the adoration in his gaze and the very distracting way he keeps running his fingers over the back of her ear, ruffling the various strands of hair that’ve fallen from her ponytail in their heated make up session.

Her bed. The sunshine, cluing her into the way Oliver was holding her, cuddling her. Then their kiss.

She’d made a choice then and there, one that still remains clear in mind and reinforced. One he’s not only mirrored but doubled the stakes of in the best and most terrifyingly awesome way possible.

“Yes,” she finally says, a bit breathless still at everything that can still follow this moment. “It’s very okay. Definitely. Good by me.”

“Okay,” he laughs, letting out a breath he seems to have been holding while her brain lagged.  

“Okay,” she breathes back, laughter bubbling to the surface at the formality of this, but not caring the slightest bit about it once Oliver tilts her head lightly upwards, leaning himself forward just so to hint at his intention.

She smiles at his wonderfully open face, loving and warm, only intensifying the tingling in her stomach that’s been buzzing from the very first touch of their lips. And with that thought in mind _—_ and very deliberately tabling every doubt or concern about the reality of a them for later _—_  she lifts herself on her tiptoes to once again brush her lips over his.

He smiles against her touch, as he did this morning too, and she lets herself feel the happiness and joy that overtakes them at their union. And she kisses that smile, and then those laugh lines, and that mole and his ridiculously adorable dimple too. And then finds her way back to his lips to capture his laughter between her own.

His touch leaves her face, trusting her direction to deepen their kiss without aid or further encouragement _—_ which she promptly does _—_  and lowers over her shoulders, down to her lower back, holding her closer still.

But a barrier is found  _—_ physical this time _—_  when her mug bumps into his chest.

Her favorite mug, still half-full with now cold coffee, that for some reason she’s still holding. And, for once, she finds the alternative to her morning cup of happiness more appealing, settling the mug to the counter against her back, promptly steering her attention forward again.

“Where were we?” she says, eliciting a most wonderful laugh from this captivating man before her. Smiling at them having found their way here, somehow, she effortlessly leans into his awaiting arms, ones that enclose her in his hold as they’ve grown to do more and more lately. 

For a moment he just holds her, his hands on her back keeping her close, palms outstretched touching as much of her back as possible, like taking her in. She gives him time, happy to lean into him as well, this time letting her hands encircle his neck instead of the more friendly touch to his shoulders she’s previously found safest. And as her fingers twiddle with the hairs on the nape of his neck, his smile widens, if possible more than it’s done lately.

 _I love you._  

The thought reappears with a such a force it takes everything in her to hold the words back from tumbling from her lips. It’s too soon, too fast; which is slightly ridiculous considering how long they’ve known each other, how much this partnership, _relationship_  already means to them both.

But still, Felicity purposely rubs her lips together to silence herself, enjoying the way his sight leaves her eyes for a moment to focus on that motion. And then the anxious lines of her mouth relax, stretching into a smile when the idea that they have time seeps into her mind.

Not _yet_ ; that simple word speaking of a tomorrow.

A tomorrow that is shining brightly in Oliver’s relaxed stance, in his arms surrounding her closely, and the breathtaking kiss he lays upon her lips once she finally tugs that handsome mug of his to hers.

A kiss, then two, turning into three as he moans against her tongue. And between the sixth or seventh _—_ no one would blame her for losing count _—_  they finally part in need for breath. And she realizes there’s no rush, no timetable or deadline for exploring his mouth and every other way his touch can grow and evolve even further than it has these past two months. 

So she leans forward, not aiming for his mouth this time _—_ catching his barely there pout at the notion _—_  but for the inviting nook between his left shoulder and neck.

And she settles there, sighing happily at this _them_ that is a new steady reality, one she’ll gladly and effortlessly soar into, taking in his warm breath against her forehead, and the cozyness and renewed familiarity of his embrace. And he hugs her closer still, brushing a kiss onto her hair, tracing a winding and loving path onto the tender skin of her lower back, a twin of their journey into this _them_ they’ve grown into and finally landed on this very day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! For coming along this road, once again, with me. For your encouragement that lead me into writing more, and inspiring Oliver's POV. For your words in response to this story that have made me smile and become excited all over again.  
> Please, if you will, leave me your final ones about the end. No matter when you find this story, they really would mean a lot to me.  
> xo,  
> Lucy
> 
> [[tumblr post](http://releaseurinhibitions.tumblr.com/post/164051085687/you-can-hear-it-in-the-silence-you-are-in-love)]


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